


Precious Cargo

by remedialpotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Gen, POV Arthur Weasley, Pre-Canon, arthur is a good dad, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedialpotions/pseuds/remedialpotions
Summary: After six children, Arthur would like to think that he and Molly may actually be decent at this parenting thing.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	Precious Cargo

**Author's Note:**

> This little moment was mentioned in the fic I posted last night/this morning (what is time, anyway?) and so I figured instead of facing my real-life responsibilities, I’d write about it. Enjoy!

After six children, Arthur would like to think that he and Molly may actually be decent at this parenting thing. The boys are all safe and fed and happy. Percy’s barely four, but he’s already taught himself to read, and Bill is a whiz at maths. Sure, Charlie keeps finding creatures in the pond and hiding them in his bedroom, and the twins took down an entire bookshelf with their accidental magic last week, but on the whole, he thinks they’re managing fairly well. 

  
The house is still standing, anyway.

Particularly because over the last five and s half months, little Ron has proven himself to be their most easygoing baby yet; it’s almost as if he’s recognized the chaos of his older brothers and thus decided to give his parents a break. He nurses on schedule, he sleeps through the night, he offers gummy smiles to everyone he meets. He’s content to entertain himself, marveling at his own toes or waving a chubby hand at the mobile suspended above his cot.

He makes them feel like they’re doing something right.

It’s one of those warm, breezy summer days that England only sees a few times each year, and the boys have been sent outside to soak up the sunshine. With Molly gone into the village to do the weekly shop, the house is quiet for the first time in an age, and Arthur takes the opportunity to get a head start on the afternoon’s chores. His long hours at the Ministry mean that Molly bears the brunt of, well, everything these days. Consumed with their children they might be, but he doesn’t want to neglect their marriage.

It’s just easier to cast all the cleaning spells without a baby on his hip, cooing in his ear and grasping at the lens of his glasses, so Arthur lays a soft blue blanket down on the carpet of the sitting room and sets Ron upon it, then gives him a wooden rattle for amusement purposes. Ron beams up at him, giving the rattle an enthusiastic shake.

“There you are,” says Arthur, gently brushing the back of his knuckles over the smattering of ginger hair atop the baby’s head. “I’ll be back in a mo.”

Ron gurgles up at him and closes a pudgy hand around his own foot.

As Arthur makes his way back into the kitchen, the sound of the rattle fades, but not completely.

The casting of the spells goes quickly. As sponges work themselves over frying pans and potato peels zoom into the bin, Arthur watches his children play in the garden though the window over the sink. Bill and Charlie are on broomsticks, tossing a Quaffle back and forth. Percy has sought shelter under a tree. And the twins-

Where the _bloody hell_ are the twins?

Arthur heart plummets into his shoes. Words like ‘blood traitor’ and ‘Death Eater’ pound through his mind as he abandons the sink, water still flowing, and bolts into the sitting room. The rattle lies discarded on the floor; both baby and blanket are nowhere in sight. Worst of all, the back door - which Arthur is sure he closed when the boys went outside - stands ajar, swaying lightly in the breeze.

For just the slightest moment, fear paralyzes him, and then he rushes through the open door. And there on the walk are two small heads, the sun glinting off their fiery hair. For two children with limitless energy, theyre moving rather slowly, and that’s when Arthur notices that they’re rolling a small bundle down the cobblestone. A small bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket. A wisp of red hair pokes out one end; a tiny foot out of the other.

“Fred! George!”

They turn at the sound of their names, but unlike his other children, who at least have the good grace to appear sheepish when scolded, they just grin at him.

“Ron play ousside?” asks George hopefully.

“Ron play ousside,” Fred echoes with a worrying level of confidence for a two-year-old.

“No, no,” says Arthur patiently, kneeling down to free Ron from his makeshift swaddle. “You can’t go rolling him round like this, he could have got hurt.”

As the blanket loosens, Ron lets out a delighted giggle, which, Arthur realizes with dismay, rather undermines his message.

“We help him,” offers Fred in explanation. “Ron can play, please?”

Arthur knows he should probably be furious with them, even if they’re still toddlers and all they wanted to do was play with their baby brother. He should usher them inside, perhaps put them in a time-out (which never works on them, but he at least ought to try), perhaps sit them down and explain to them that their baby brother is not a toy.

But he’s just so happy that they’re there, that they’re safe and healthy, that Ron is laughing and gnawing on his own fingers. That the protective spells around the house have held, because no Death Eaters have come calling, and he’s probably high on their list of targets. Grateful to have any of it at all.

“All right,” he relents, hitching Ron up on his hip. “We’ll stay outside for a few minutes, how about that?”

As the twins run into the grass, Arthur ducks just in time to allow Charlie to fly overhead, then heaves a great sigh of relief.

He reckons he’s still managing all right.


End file.
